


Coisa Mais Linda

by Wreckage



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Merlin olympics 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreckage/pseuds/Wreckage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is an Olympic swimmer celebrating the end of the games. Lapa is not a neighbourhood to trust empty alleyways in. Luckily, there is a reluctant saviour at hand...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coisa Mais Linda

**Author's Note:**

> Terribly last minute contribution to merlinolympics.livejournal.com. Excuse the bad Portuguese. Also, I cannot sports, but I know a little bit about Rio so I wrote about that instead. Yes, I know I have wips that I should be posting instead.

Arthur lit a cigarette.

It was a habit he'd quit long ago, but he deserved it. Two bronze medals, a silver, and a gold in 400 metres freestyle - that wasn't too shabby. All his events were over, he'd even moved out of the Olympic village and into a luxury hotel in the city proper. His father had recommend it. If he deserved to go clubbing, he deserved a smoke, too. And he bloody needed it, seeing as his sister was inside the club, being her normal outrageous self. Of course she'd wheedle her way into the festivities, even though her own "Olympic sport" didn't compete until September. In Baku. He needed the calming effect of the smoke, and he needed the break from the noise as well as from the condescending chess witch. He'd bummed a cigarette off an American expat in exchange for a selfie, and now he'd rounded a corner just to get away from the crowd for a little bit. Man, these Brazilians were loud. He leaned against the wall. It was a decorative place to smoke, at least, much as it smelled of rum, vomit, and piss. He could see the aqueduct not far away. Lapa, the neighbourhood was called. The nightclub district.

 

There was a noise to his left. He turned. A small, skinny boy was casually sauntering towards him. The kid was holding a knife longer than his own forearm.  
"Money," he asserted.  
He couldn't be more than twelve, at the most. Arthur hadn't brought any cash outside, just a borrowed lighter and his phone. He really didn't want to lose his phone.  
"I don't have any on me," Arthur replied, spluttering a little.  
"Money," repeated the boy, waving the knife threateningly.  
"It's all inside - do you understand me?"  
"Money!"

 

Before Arthur could attempt another explanation, a warm, deep, and melodic voice sounded behind him.  
"Brenno. Ele disse que não tem nenhum. Tá todo lá dentro."  
The boy seemed to consider this.  
"Diz pra ele ir lá e pega," he concluded.  
"Olha, vai para casa, querido. Eu posso fazer isso. Rouba o dinheiro dele e dá pra você."  
"Não sou querido de ninguém não! Vou para casa não!"  
"Tem polícia pra todo lado. Com as olimpíadas, tão loucos. Vai para casa, eu te pago amanhã. Tá?"

 

The boy stared at the person behind Arthur for a long moment, then lowered his knife and skulked out of the passage. Arthur turned. The man who had saved him was tall, dark haired, quite fair skinned for a Brazilian. Cute, too, but that was hardly relevant. Brazilian men were infuriatingly good looking compared to British ones.  
"O- obrigado," he ventured. The man looked at him. Then he laughed.  
"Oh god, that's pathetic."  
Arthur was taken aback. In general, not many people here spoke fluent English, and the ones who did spoke with a heavy accent or like Americans. This bloke sounded unmistakably English.  
"I beg your pardon?"  
"Gratitude accepted, mate. You need to work on your pronunciation, though."  
He wasn't sure how to feel. This man had saved him from being stabbed, then decided to insult his attempts at a thank you and lecture him on his Portuguese. As if that was a language he was ever going to need again after this week.  
"Yes, um, well. I guess I, uh. Owe you a drink."  
"What, in there?" The man viewed the club with disdain. "That's full of you lot. Entitled rich tourists come to enjoy the Olympic spectacle, not caring about the displacement, class devastation, and ethnic cleansing going on just to accommodate you all. Looking at local people like they're exotic curiosities, not even bothering to learn the language. Hanging out in deserted alleyways in Lapa and acting surprised when some starving kid wants your money. It's an invasion of twerps, all here 'cause you want to see some jumped up athletes run around playing silly, expensive games. Nah. It's not my crowd."  
"I'm not here to watch the athletes. I am one."  
This didn't seem to impress the man. Which bothered Arthur, because he was impressive, damn it, and didn't like it when people didn't catch on. Besides, he felt like he had to defend himself somehow after that rant.  
"I won a gold medal!" He said, not liking how petulant it came out. The man's lip curled.  
"Good for you."  
Then he turned on his heel and walked back towards the street. Arthur sighed and returned to his cigarette. But before he could finish it, the man's head poked back around the corner.  
"Well? You coming? That spot is no safer than it was. Besides, I thought you were going to repay my kindness in alcohol."  
Arthur stumped the cigarette, and followed.  
"I'm Merlin, by the way," said his companion.  
"Arthur," he answered, "Arthur Pendragon."  
He'd hoped that would ring a bell, but apparently not. This guy was British, damnit, he should know who Arthur was! Luckily, the bouncer still did, and let them through to the VIP section right away. Merlin looked dismayed.  
"Yes, I know. Privilege in action. You can have a little communist rant about it once you've got a caipirinha in your hand."  
"Ugh. No bloody tourist caipirinhas. I'll have a Devassa. Loura."  
"Fine by me. Oh, um, by the way. It'd be great if you didn't tell anyone that I was nearly murdered by a preteen."  
That made Merlin grin.  
"You have my word."

 

Arthur led the way to the booth where his possessions were, and grabbed his wallet.  
"That you, Arthur?"  
Morgana was wearing a blindfold and drinking tequila shots, as she always did at this time of night.  
"Yep."  
"Certainly smells like it. Swimming champions aren't supposed to be party smokers.  
"Bite me."  
One of Morgana's minions whispered in her ear. She laughed. Arthur glanced at the chessboard on the table. Growing up around her, he understood what was funny.  
"Really? Rook to E8. Done. Any more takers before the blindfold comes off?"  
The young man opposite her cursed, and was evicted from his chair by another challenger. Even blind and drunk, she dominated any takers. The rules were simple, beat Morgana and earn eternal glory, lose and you owed her entourage a tequila each. This usually left everyone except the Pendragons very, very poor, and very, very drunk.  
"Morgana wins again! Shots all around!"  
A man with a tray handed out tequila, and Merlin happily accepted.  
"Valeu, primo," he said as he grabbed the drink, catching Morgana's attention.  
"Hang on! Arthur, have you finally gathered your courage and chatted up a local _gato_?"  
He groaned in response.  
"Right, I'm not hanging around for this. I'll be right back with more drinks."  
"You're an angel, little brother. But don't think for one moment you've gotten away from me. Então, qual é o seu nome, queridinho?"

 

  
Arthur sighed deeply, but the quicker he got Merlin a drink, the quicker his debt of gratitude would be over and done with. He found the bar and hastily bought himself another caipirinha, as well as Merlin's beer. It didn't take long, but he still had some damage control to do when he got back. The second he sat down, he saw Morgana's grin.  
"What now?" He asked, taking a big, preemptive gulp of his drink.  
"My word, Arthur! Meh-ling here tells me an interesting tale! I didn't think you were desperate enough to pick up local rent boys."  
He choked on his caipirinha.  
"Rent boy?" He spluttered. The smile on Merlin's face was positively evil.  
"Imagine you taking advantage of a poor Brazilian boy's struggles. Is he fit? You can tell me honest, he doesn't speak much English."  
"Doesn't he," Arthur said coolly. "That's surprising, seeing as he's from Croydon."  
Merlin barked a laugh.  
"Croydon? What on Earth makes you guess Croydon?"  
Arthur shrugged.  
"Well, you're not that far off, but still. Arse."  
Morgana pouted.  
"Well, well. How utterly rude of you to scam a drunk girl in a blindfold. You two deserve each other."  
"I'm sorry, querida, it was just too tempting. I'm originally from within Greater London, yeah, but I've lived in Rio for the last six years."  
"Interesting. What brought you here?"  
"Musical therapy course had a project here. But then I fell in love and dropped out. And then I fell out of love again. And by then I'd grown roots in Rocinha."  
"Rocinha?" Arthur parroted in disbelief, "You live in the slum?"  
"It's a favela. It's much more complicated than a slum."  
It was obvious that Merlin was going to get defensive about his adopted home, so Arthur left it. He was too tired and tipsy to want an argument.  
"My, my. You do know how to pick 'em, Arty. Knight to E5. That should be a check mate."  
Morgana's latest victim groaned in despair.  
"That's enough," she said, and took off the blindfold, "I'd like to walk into that taxi on my own two feet, thanks."  
The table all accepted their victory shots, and Morgana made a toast out of it.  
"To life," she announced, "And to the fact that no-one's competing tomorrow, so we can stay out until the clubs close if we so wish!"  
They drank to that.

 

"You've no idea how great it is not to have to go all the way back to Barra in this state," Arthur slurred as they stumbled along Avenida Atlântica. Merlin laughed. He was pressed up against Arthur's side, as he had been for much of the evening. He might not be exotic and Brazilian, but he was a good kisser.  
Morgana groaned.  
"I've told you a million times, you don't proh nounce the arrrrs," she sighed, swaying slightly. It was a good job they'd had Merlin to give the taxi driver directions. It was a good job there were lifts at the hotel. "It's Ba-ha. Barra."  
"You're hopeless," Merlin mumbled against Arthur's neck, making his skin tingle, before he changed the subject, "Of course you would stay at the Copacabana Palace, you fucking one percenters."  
"Morgana suggested Hotel... Hotel..." he tried to recall as they shuffled inside.  
"Hotel Santa Teresa," Morgana said, "It's in a more artsy neighbourhood."  
"It's also up a bloody hill," Arthur countered.  
The three way bickering didn't cease until they had safely deposited Morgana in her own room. And then there wasn't really much time for bickering, just hands and mouths and drunken fumbling.

 

Arthur woke first. Sharing beds always got too hot and clammy for him, and they'd forgotten to turn the air conditioning on in their rush to get off so right now he was dying. The hangover didn't help. He disentangled himself from the sheets and Merlin's limbs and desperately sought out a bottle of water. Where was the pack of ibuprofen? The bathroom. Of course. He fetched it on wobbly legs. When he returned, Merlin was watching him with a face wide smile.  
"Olha, que coisa mais linda, mais cheio de graça, é ele, o menino, que vem é que passa, num doce balanço, caminho do mar... Urgh. I hate this place." His singing voice was broken and gruff, but it was audible that when he wasn't recently awoken and superbly hungover, it would sound exquisite. He gestured to the entirety of the hotel. "The very symbol of colonial oppression. Slavery. Genocide. Capitalism. All that jazz."  
"What were you singing?" Arthur asked, handing Merlin the water bottle and a pill.  
"You're unbelievable," Merlin said, rolling his eyes but accepting the proffered medicine, "Everyone knows this song. We're by the wrong beach, but still."

Arthur didn't press. He was feeling too unwell for mind games. He started searching the drawers for the room service menu. He was sure he'd put it there somewhere.  
"Ah, se ele soubesse, que quando ele passa, o mundo sorrindo, se enche de graça, e fica mais lindo por causa do amor... Por causa do amor..."  
He realised Merlin was moving about, and turned to find him going through Arthur's wallet.  
"What are you doing?"  
Without looking up, Merlin answered, "I promised Brenno I'd rob you and give him the money. Let's see... Thirty reais? That should keep him happy enough."  
"So you are a rent boy after all."  
"Not for the last seven years, no. And I would charge way more than that, you arse." Merlin looked up. Fuck, he had puppy dog eyes, too. This couldn't end well. "He needs it more than either of us. I'll make it up to you..."  
Arthur scoffed at the exaggerated seduction in his voice.  
"Fine, fine. Play the philanthropic prostitute."  
At that, Merlin got up, and kissed Arthur lightly on the nose. It was a swift, fond kiss, devoid of any heat but saturated with sweetness, and it made Arthur realise how well and truly fucked he was.  
"What are you doing tonight?" Merlin asked, only inches from Arthur's face.  
_You, hopefully,_ he wanted to answer, nearly blushing at the thought. Instead, he swallowed.  
"Got any suggestions?  
"Ever been to a baile funk?"


End file.
